


Anything We Like

by apliddell



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is the world's Softest top, Banter, Crowley's Flat, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, First Time, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Serpent Crowley, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, the rewards of being loved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 09:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19315483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: But we can do anything we like, can’t we. Who’s to stop us?





	Anything We Like

“Strawberry?” Crowley looked over his shoulder at Aziraphale. 

 

“Yes, please.”

 

Crowley paid the ice cream man with a handful of change and passed Aziraphale his lolly with a kiss on the cheek, “There you are, Angel.” 

 

“Thank you, dear-ooh! Goodness!” Aziraphale stumbled backward over the small child standing admittedly quite close behind him, overbalanced in his effort not to knock her down and went sprawling on the grass.  “Terribly sorry,” Aziraphale said to the child, brushing at the grass stains on his trouser knees. “Are you all right?”

 

“Are you?” asked the child fairly, since she was not the one on the ground. 

 

“Oh quite,” said Aziraphale brightly, brushing harder at the grass stains. “Right as rain.”

 

Crowley tutted and surreptitiously miracled Aziraphale’s lolly into eatable condition, “I can’t bring you anywhere, can I, Angel.”  He offered his free hand and pulled Aziraphale to his feet. 

 

“I know,” Aziraphale sighed dramatically. “Look at the state of my trousers.” 

 

Crowley leaned in to murmur into Aziraphale’s ear, “I’ll look after those at home.” Aziraphale hissed in unconvincing reproof, and Crowley dodged his little swat with a smile. He turned to the little girl, “What’ll you have, miss?”

 

“Raspberry lolly, please.” 

 

Crowley paid the ice cream man and handed the child her lolly, “There you are.” 

 

“Thanks,” the child accepted her lolly and immediately smudged a considerable amount of it on her chin. 

 

Crowley offered Aziraphale his arm, “Shall we get you to a bench before you do yourself a mischief, Angel?”

 

The child looked between them, “Are you married?” 

 

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, “No, dear we’re not married. Why do you ask?”

 

“My dad calls my mum that. Angel. Why aren’t you married?” 

 

Crowley took a nonchalant lick of his vanilla cone, but suspected he was slowly turning the colour of Aziraphale’s strawberry lolly. 

 

Aziraphale laughed gently, “I suppose my sweetheart’s never had the manners to ask. Have you got an adult nearby?” 

 

“Yeah,” the child looked round at the nearby playpark and pointed to a woman pushing an even smaller child on a swing. 

 

“Perhaps you’d best go back to them, dear,” said Aziraphale. 

 

“Okay,” said the child and trotted away toward the playpark. 

 

Aziraphale offered Crowley his elbow and when Crowley accepted it, they ambled away toward their favourite bench. Crowley watched the ducks uneasily while his ice cream melted down his wrist. 

 

Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, “Angel-oh thanks.” He took the handkerchief Aziraphale offered him and wiped his hand cleanish. “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

 

“I know, but there’s no need for you to be sticky while you say it. Go on.” 

 

“Did you mean what you said before? About me not having the manners to er. You know. Ask.” 

 

“Oh no, dear, don’t be silly. I was only joking.”

 

Crowley rubbed at the grass with the toe of his shoe, “So you don’t er.”

 

Aziraphale shifted on the bench to turn toward Crowley, regarding him carefully, “Well. Marriage is sort of. It’s for humans, isn’t it?” 

 

Crowley licked at his ice cream forlornly, “So are trousers.” 

 

Aziraphale laughed, “Crowley,  _ dogs _ wear trousers.” 

 

Crowley absently miracled the grass stains off Aziraphale’s trousers, “All right, Angel. Point taken.” 

 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale stroked his arm, “Have I said something wrong?”

 

Crowley shrugged, “No, no. I wasn’t  _ asking _ . I was only. Asking.” 

 

“I’d never thought about it before, dear. I was only a little taken aback. I didn’t know it was important to you. If you want to, yes, of course we c-”

 

“Wait! This isn’t a proposal; I’m not  _ that _ rubbish!”

 

“Not rubbish at all, dearest,” Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s cheek and kissed him. “Not one bit.” 

 

Crowley was beginning to see a light at the end of his rather frantic tunnel and sighed, “Sorry, Angel, I’m being ridiculous. It’s fine. I’m. Tickety boo.” He paused to let Aziraphale smile into his sleeve. “Can we just forget this ever happened?”

 

“Now why should I want to do that?”

 

“Well.” Crowley shrugged, “You were right. Marriage is for humans.” 

 

Aziraphale shook his head, “But we can do anything we like, can’t we. Who’s to stop us?”

 

…

 

The next time Crowley came round the bookshop, he found Aziraphale in unusually high spirits. He could hear him humming from the back of the shop. Crowley set down his ginger beers and packet of egg and avocado sandwiches and lingered at the counter, trying to identify the tune he was hearing. 

 

“Is that you Crowley, dear?” called Aziraphale from the back. 

 

“It’s me, Angel. I’ve brought you lunch.” 

 

Aziraphale came hurrying out, beaming and holding one hand behind his back, “Hello Crowley! I was just thinking of you.” 

 

“Speak of the devil; hear the clink of his chains,” Crowley grinned and leaned in to kiss Aziraphale hello. “You’re looking pleased with yourself, and I see you’ve got something hidden behind your back. If you try and do a magic trick, I will leave. Fair warning.” 

 

Aziraphale laughed, “No, you silly. I’ve just been collecting your present.”

 

“My present?” Crowley lifted his shades, smiling even broader. “I must have been a very good boy lately.” 

 

“Well dear, you know you are, but good’s got nothing to do with it. I’m not Father Christmas, I’m,” Aziraphale rocked eagerly on the balls of his feet and held out the whatever it was he was so pleased over, “your fiance?” He opened his hand to reveal a small, fat golden circle sitting on his palm. 

 

Crowley staggered and clutched at the counter. Aziraphale miracled him a chair, and he sank into it, “You’re my…?” he waved, inviting Aziraphale to finish the sentence. 

 

“Fiance?” Aziraphale’s smile faltered a bit into worry. “I suppose it was presumptuous to have a ring made without consulting you as to design, but. I do hope you like it.” He held out the ring again. 

 

Crowley took it, “It’s lovely.” So it was. A pair of golden wings folded snugly around a plump dark red stone. Aziraphale beamed, and Crowley was afraid he’d gone so soft that he’d jelly-wobble out of his chair onto the floor. He cleared his throat, “I don’t have one for you. Yet.”

 

Aziraphale stooped and kissed Crowley’s hand, “That’s all right, dearest. You can give me one at the ceremony, if you like. Or some other time. Or think of another trinket, if you’d rather!”

 

“We can do whatever we like,” said Crowley faintly. 

 

“Exactly!” Aziraphale bounced on the spot again, “Is that a yes, then? Mind you can keep it, either way; it isn’t a bribe.”

 

“A yes?” Crowley repeated, thinking that his head seemed to be a long ways off from his body. 

 

“Well,” Aziraphale fluttered his eyelashes bashfully. “Traditionally a proposal is a question, I believe. Though I have made a bit of a mess of it, haven’t I. I wrote a little speech, and it seems to have gone right out of my head. I do have some lovely romantic poetry memorised, though. I could-”

 

“No,” interrupted Crowley. “I mean yes. I mean. You don’t need to recite anything, Aziraphale. Yes, let’s.” He put the ring on and waved his hand, thinking how much nicer and more dramatic the gesture was with decoration. “Marriage. I mean, yes, I’ll marry you.” 

 

“Lovely!” said Aziraphale and tore open the packet of sandwiches. 

 

…

 

The phone at the back of the bookshop let out a crisp  _ brrrring brrrring _ , and Aziraphale drifted over to answer it, “Hello?”

 

“Angel.”

 

“Oh, hello my dear.” 

 

“What’s the A stand for?”

 

“The A…?”

 

Crowley giggled, “You’re absurd, you do know that? The  _ A _ , Angel! I’ve got to put something on the marriage licence. So. Pick a name, any name.”

 

“Ohhhhh,  _ that _ A.”

 

“The very same.” 

 

“The A stands for. Erm,” Aziraphale looked round the shop, but no suitable options readily presented themselves. “It stands for. Anthony.” Crowley burst into a peal of laughter and promptly dropped the receiver. “Oh dear. Crowley? Are you still there, darling?”

 

“You do know  _ my _ name is Anthony?”

 

“Yes,” said Aziraphale defensively. “Of course I know that.” 

 

“You don’t even like Anthony!” 

 

“It grew on me.”

 

“Well we can’t both be Anthony. Pick another A, Angel.” 

 

“I don’t see why we can’t both be Anthony. It isn’t as if we’ll ever actually call each other Anthony. You’re Crowley, and I’m Aziraphale; those are our proper names. What does it matter what anyone else-” 

 

“So you want to be Anthony specifically for the purposes of our wedding? You want to be pronounced Anthony and Anthony?” 

 

Aziraphale considered that, “Do they say it like that?” 

 

“I’ll put Angel on the licence, how’s that?” 

 

“Angel Fell? No, that sounds horrible!” 

 

“True,” conceded Crowley. “Well, ‘with all that I am and all that I have’, after all. If you insist, you can be Anthony as well. Who am I to stop you?” 

 

“It’s a nice name,” said Aziraphale.

 

“Thank you, I think so.” 

 

“You’re a paragon of generosity, my dear.” 

 

“Well, I’m passionately in love with you, Anthony,” said Crowley and rung off. 

 

...

 

They stayed at Crowley’s on their wedding night, Aziraphale having shyly confessed that all the plants made him think of the old days. That observation was exactly what Crowley’d hoped for, but it didn’t stop him coming over a bit funny. He miracled a bed shaped like a very large fainting couch, and draped himself over it. Laughing, Aziraphale sat down beside him and patted his lap invitingly. 

 

Crowley laid his head on Aziraphale’s knee and took his shades off, and Aziraphale stroked his hair, “How was that, dear? Was it what you wanted?” 

 

Crowley considered, “The cake was nice.”

 

“The cake was scrumptious,” Aziraphale agreed warmly. 

 

“And I looked rather pretty in my suit.”

 

“You were also scrumptious.” 

 

“Was it silly to want it?” Crowley asked presently, too comfortable and affectionate to fear the answer. “It was nice, but I thought it’d be. I dnno.”

 

“Transcendent?” Aziraphale bent to kiss Crowley’s hand, then straightened the ring on his finger.

 

“Something like that, yeah.” 

 

“I think we’ve had the transcendent bit already, my dear,” said Aziraphale gently. 

 

Crowley yawned and turned his face into Azirphale’s lap to present more hair territory for petting, “I suppose not much tops the apocalypse.” 

 

“We did. Are you for Bedfordshire, dearest?” 

 

“You learn the worst human expressions, you really do. Who’s teaching you these things?” Crowley clicked his fingers to turn his suit into slinky red pyjamas. 

 

“Oooh, I like those,” Aziraphale pet down his back. “They’re all silky. Lovely.” 

 

“You want some, Angel?” Crowley clicked again. “I didn’t disappear your suit,” he added before Aziraphale could protest. “I put it over there,” Crowley pointed without looking to Azirphale’s suit hung neatly on a hook on the opposite wall. 

 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale stroking the silky sleeve of his blue pyjamas. “And you’ve pressed it. Thank you.” 

 

“My pleasure,” Crowley said into Aziraphale’s knee. 

 

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale hesitantly. 

 

“Mmmn?” 

 

“I don’t like the bed. It’s all hard, and it’s not even a proper bed. Can I change it?”

 

“My soft Angel,” said Crowley fondly, shifting about so that Aziraphale could lie down properly. “Change away; what’s mine is yours, husband.” Underneath him, the bed shifted, and Aziraphale tucked a fluffy duvet under his chin. 

 

“Comfy?” asked Aziraphale innocently, spooning up behind Crowley. Crowley only grabbed at Aziraphale’s hand, made a fuzzy sound into his pillow, and went briskly to sleep. 

 

…

 

There was a shaft of golden light streaming through the window to kiss Aziraphale’s curls like a halo. He looked more angelic than ever. Crowley unfortunately was mortified to be poking him in the backside with an erection. Aziraphale did not notice, as he was sound asleep, but Crowley was still mortified. He would very much liked to have excused himself to the bathroom for a stern word with himself, but Aziraphale was lying on his arm. They’d switched around in the night somehow so that Aziraphale was the spoonee instead of vice versa. 

 

“Should’ve known I’d be an unreliable big spoon,” Crowley muttered into his pillow, then held his breath when Aziraphale shifted slightly. Crowley passed the time waiting to see if Aziraphale would wake by wondering if he could redirect blood flow to his brain by thinking very hard. He did not appear to be able to think hard enough. 

 

One of Aziraphale’s deep inhales turned gradually into a smacking yawn, and Crowley, panicky and trapped with his arm stuck under Aziraphale’s warm, silky side, transformed into his serpent form and slithered under his own pillow into a nervous coil. 

 

Aziraphale sighed a contented sigh, “Good morning, Mr Fell. Did you sleep well?” 

 

Crowley, not being an actual serpent but only looking like one, could of course speak in that form. He rather hoped Aziraphale had forgotten.

 

Aziraphale turned onto his side toward Crowley’s side of the bed and stroked the warm spot Crowley’s human sized body had left behind, “I was quite looking forward to a chat with you this morning. Nothing in particular, just. What’s it called? Pillow talk.” Crowley shifted a bit to stretch his tail out and coil it about Aziraphale’s wrist. Aziraphale beamed, “You’re more than good, you know.” He glanced about conspiratorially and lowered his voice, “You’re sweet. Don’t worry, my love. It stays between us. One of our little secrets, if you like.” Aziraphale rested his hand over the wrist that Crowley held and stroked Crowley’s scales, “Though you are allowed it now, you know. Sweetness. No one’s going to punish you for it now.” Crowley tightened his coil round Aziraphale’s wrist, and Aziraphale carried on with his gentle stroking, “Used to be a bit like stealing biscuits, didn’t it? Our time together. Six thousand years of love sneaked and snatched and denied. But now here we are.” He laughed fondly, “Anthony and Anthony. All it took was the end of the world.”

 

Aziraphale shut his eyes, and Crowley wondered if he might be about to go back to sleep. He let go of Aziraphale’s wrist and slithered up against the warm crook of Aziraphale’s body. Aziraphale drew light fingertips down his spine, “I’m so glad to be here with you, my dearest. My best friend. You make me feel so. Unfurled.” 

 

Crowley knew a dramatic entrance when he heard one. He stretched himself back into his human shape, “Me too.” 

 

Aziraphale opened his eyes and beamed with such overwhelming soft fondness that Crowley nearly shifted back into the serpent, “Good morning again, my dear. I do like this face.” And he cupped Crowley’s cheek and kissed him. 

 

“I didn’t mean for you to wake up with me all,” Crowley waggled his tongue not especially snakishly. 

 

Aziraphale smiled, “I find I tend to like you however you happen to be.” He seemed to consider that, “Are you. Quite all right?” 

 

“Fine!” squeaked Crowley, sinking under the blankets. “I just. I. I had. I was.” He sank til his face was about level with Aziraphale’s chest, “Tumescent.” 

 

Aziraphale did not laugh, and Crowley had strategically positioned himself so that he couldn’t see if Aziraphale wanted to, “Is that a problem?” 

 

“Well,” Crowley brought the sheet nonchalantly over his head and spoke directly into Aziraphale’s chest as if it were an intercom microphone, “We hadn’t discussed. Anything. I didn’t want to er. Impose.”

 

“Dearest,” Aziraphale’s hands found their way under the sheet and into Crowley’s hair, “We are married. Newlyweds, in fact. But if it makes you feel better, you have my unrestricted permission to have erections in the same room as me.” He stroked Crowley’s hair, “Though of course, if you’re not interested in sex, we don-”

 

“Are  _ you _ interested in sex? Do angels  _ have _ sex?” 

 

“I don’t suppose it’d be encouraged, considering the looks I got for enjoying sushi, but it’s certainly possible. I have.”

 

Crowley wished he were standing so that he could lurch about expressively. Some things are beyond words. He pressed his head against Aziraphale’s chest, though, and it was very grounding. Crowley listened to three of Aziraphale’s heartbeats before he spoke again, “Does it. Do you think it accounts for the fuss?”

 

Aziraphale’s hand danced down from Crowley’s hair to his back, “The fuss is mainly manipulation, I think.”

 

“Oh.” Crowley wriggled upward and pulled the sheet down to his shoulders, “Not much to write home about?”

 

Aziraphale stroked his cheek, “I don’t say that, dear. It varies.” 

 

Crowley thought about that, “It’s strange we haven’t talked about it before. Isn’t it?” 

 

“Oh, not especially. We’ve had lots of other new things to be getting on with. It has its place in the tableau. We can try things any time we like.” 

 

Crowley squirmed up a bit more til they were nose to nose. “The world is so big with you, Aziraphale,” he said solemnly. 

 

“I feel the same,” said Aziraphale fervidly. “And there’s no reason to be embarrassed of that, is there?” 

 

“No,” agreed Crowley. “Can I kiss you?”

 

“You’ve  _ been _ kissing me, dearest.” 

 

“My luck, I’ve married the world’s only funny angel. Aziraphale, do you suppose you might like to have some sex?” 

 

Aziraphale looked smug and kissed Crowley. Crowley was surprised to find that it was a new sort of kiss, a very intentful kiss. Warm and soft and sticky sweet as toffee. Crowley wrapped an arm about Aziraphale’s waist, and Aziraphale hmm’d encouragingly. Crowley felt very fizzly inside like uncorked champagne. There was a lovely, slippery friction happening between their silky chests, and Aziraphale had found the gap between Crowley’s pyjama bottoms and Crowley’s pyjama top. 

 

Aziraphale drew back, very pink about the mouth, “May I undress you, my love?” 

 

“Hnnngk,” said Crowley, then swallowed and nodded, because it was the sort of moment where comprehensible responses are important. 

 

Aziraphale smoothed his hand over the satiny front of Crowley’s pyjama top and plucked open a button. He leaned in again and kissed Crowley’s throat, where his pulse was jumping. Crowley shivered, and Aziraphale stroked his chest more firmly, “Is it good, dearest?” 

 

Crowley moaned in answer. Aziraphale popped open another button and kissed Crowley’s collarbone. Crowley felt as if he were growing and shrinking both at once. His skin felt hot and a little too tight and there were sparkles of excitement burning under it wherever Aziraphale’s mouth touched it. 

 

When Aziraphale had got Crowley out of his pyjamas, he paused to take off his own, and Crowley marveled as he did that in six thousand years, they’d never been naked together before. 

 

Aziraphale knelt on the bed next to Crowley, “Still good?” Crowley nodded. “I have a plan,” said Aziraphale. “Do you think you’d like to be held? Or would it be too much?”

 

“Held,” Crowley managed. Aziraphale smiled and sat down with his back braced against the headboard that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He raised and parted his knees, then patted the place on the bed between them. “Sit here, my love. Lovely. And put your back here against my chest. Yes, slouch if you like, my dear slinky thing.” 

 

Crowley settled back against Aziraphale with a sigh, and Aziraphale kissed his neck in a sort of welcome aboard, “Open your legs, Crowley.” Crowley hastened to obey. “Perfect. Are you comfortable, my love?” 

 

“Yes,” said Crowley, finding that monosyllables were within reach again. 

 

“Perfect,” said Aziraphale turned his head to discreetly lick his hand. 

 

“Can I do that?” Crowley asked. 

 

“Of course,” Aziraphale held out his hand, and Crowley licked it, into the creases of his palm and between his fingers, and against the plump pad of his thumb. “Thank you, my dear. Very wet,” said Aziraphale in Crowley’s ear, and Crowley’s answering giggle was drowned in a gasp and a hiss when Aziraphale’s soft, slick hand wrapped around Crowley’s erection. 

 

“Oh!” Crowley dropped his head back onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

 

Aziraphale kissed his cheek, “Still good?” Crowley nodded. “Good,” said Aziraphale and began to stroke him, tenderly, coaxingly. “I do love to hold you. Do you know that, my dear?”

Crowley squirmed, “Mmmmmmm.”

 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale in a shiver of a whisper. “I can feel your voice in my chest, Crowley. That feels delicious.” His hand on Crowley grew firmer, though it was still unhurried, still just as warm and slick as at the start. He dragged his fingernails across Crowley’s chest, and Crowley jumped and groaned. Aziraphale petted over his chest, “Beautiful. How lovely you are. What a gorgeous sound, my love.” Aziraphale hugged Crowley tight against him and kissed his neck. 

 

“Aziraphale!”

 

“Still good?” 

 

“Keep going!”

 

“That’s it, dearest,” Aziraphale’s stroking hand quickened, tightened, “leave it to me, and I’ll look after you. I’m not going to stop.” His soft voice in Crowley’s ear was like another hand rubbing against him, “Just let go whenever you’re ready.” 

 

Crowley wasn’t sure he knew how to let go, but he’d like to try if Aziraphale would show him. Aziraphale pressed wet, nuzzling, encouraging kisses to Crowley’s jaw, and Crowley shut his eyes, clutched for the hand that was still stroking his chest. Aziraphale laced their fingers together, the tightness of his grip betraying his excitement. 

 

“Aziraphale,” said Crowley helplessly. 

 

“Yes, darling,” Aziraphale breathed. “We’re nearly there, aren’t we.”

 

Aziraphale laid his cheek against Crowley’s and gave him a twisting sort of squeeze, and with a jolt and a shout, Crowley came. 

 

“Oh!” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek, his neck, his shoulders, every bit of skin in reach, and held Crowley tightly til he’d shivered through two aftershocks.

 

“Oh!” agreed Crowley sagging bonelessly onto his side and grinning foolishly up at Aziraphale. “I wonder how long til I’m as good at that as you are.” 

 

“Practise makes perfect.” Aziraphale smiled, “You’re already a dab hand at kissing. But let’s call it a behaviour, rather than a skill. We’re certainly not competing with anyone, are we.” 

 

“A behaviour,” Crowley repeated thoughtfully. He watched Aziraphale miracle a handkerchief to wipe his hands on, then vanish it and miracle another. 

 

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, “May I?” 

 

Crowley grinned lazily and chinned his hand, “Why, have I got something on my face?” Aziraphale laughed and gently dabbed and wiped at Crowley until he was significantly less damp and sticky. “Why’d you miracle a handkerchief? Wouldn’t it be just as easy to do away with the mess?” 

 

Aziraphale tossed his head, “Because I like my handkerchiefs, and frankly I’m rather fond of the mess also. You might just as well ask me why I don’t miracle a chirashi roll into my mouth since that way I wouldn’t get soy sauce on my lips.” 

 

Crowley laughed until the tears came into his eyes, then pressed his face into a pillow to muffle himself and laughed a bit more. 

 

Aziraphale tutted, “I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself. Giddy.” 

 

“Am I a chirashi roll?”

 

“It’s a metaphor, Crowley. They have them in books.” 

 

Crowley wiped his eyes, “This isn’t a joke; it’s genuinely a new thing I love about you, and I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to still be finding those. Six thousand years and still! Anyway, your ostensible prissiness marries incredibly well with. Whatever we like to call this particular tendency.” 

 

“I call it lust,” said Aziraphale primly, which set Crowley off again. 

 

“Have mercy, please!” Crowley moaned into his pillow, shaking with laughter. “I’ll burst.”

 

Aziraphale reclined next to Crowley with a very patient sigh, “Put your head here, and calm down, silly. I’m not doing anything to you; you’re doing it to yourself.” He patted his chest. 

 

Crowley hiccoughed and obeyed. Aziraphale was feeling indulgent enough to start stroking his back again, and it was turning Crowley deliciously languid. He tried and failed to think of a word for the foregoing events that was neither flippant nor precious. He decided he'd invent a word in future. He was good at inventing words, “When’s your turn, Angel?”

 

Aziraphale kissed his hair, “Oh soon enough, I’m sure. But you’re positively glowing at the moment, my dear. You will let me bask in you a little longer?”

 

Crowley found that he was more than willing to allow it. 


End file.
